


Departure Days

by raven_aorla



Series: Time Out of Mind [2]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Legal and Political Drama, F/F, F/M, Frank discussion of mental illness, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Queerplatonic Relationships, Some bittersweet, contains chapter specific warnings, excessive 1776 references in TJeff chapter, one chapter will be M and labeled accordingly, psych ward au, some happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6391372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your time is done at Vernon Psychiatric Crisis Center, it's time to go home. But who's taking you home? And what will they say to you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. George Frederick King III

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter specific warnings:  
> \- Brief mentions of hallucinations that the sufferer knows to be unreal  
> \- Vague reference to patient-on-patient violence  
> \- Discussion of involuntary institutionalization

George Fredrick King III  
Picked up by: Charlotte King  
Relationship: Spouse

"I thought you'd call for the driver rather than driving me yourself."

Charlotte looks exquisite, positively regal, in her designer coat and pearls. She also looks ready to throttle him. She settles for tightly squeezing the steering wheel instead. "Is that really the first thing you have to say?"

"Darling..." He knows he has his faults. He's starting to regret his recent behavior for reasons beyond than the massive inconvenience it's caused. He loves her. 

"Fasten your safety belt. I'm driving you myself so we can speak privately." She pulls out of the driveway. He finds himself hoping she'll take the scenic route. Parts of Virginia are beautiful this time of year.

George is silent. Charlotte needs to safely navigate this turn. When she is done shouting at him, they can listen to a podcast or something. That would be nice. Parliament is whispering to him again, and there is a giant alligator lying in the road, but he knows Parliament is far away and Charlotte would express alarm at a giant road alligator. Therefore there is none. 

"George, I need you to focus."

"Yes, darling."

"We did everything we could to persuade Vernon to keep you in a first floor ward. You could salvage respectability from that, don't you see? We could spin it as you being responsible. Taking control of your problems. Getting help on your own terms. Posh people aren't insane; they're eccentric - what the hell does that driver think he's doing!" 

Charlotte corrects whatever the problem was. George has forgotten a lot of the particulars of driving. It's been years since anyone has let him. "Rebellion?" he suggests.

She is not amused. "All our work came to nothing when you pulled that stunt of yours. What in God's name possessed you to attack another patient?"

"I didn't attack him. I injured him at his request. It was consensual."

She stares at him for several seconds. He becomes worried she'll miss something important on the road. "In that place, of all places, you should have known it wasn't informed consent. He wasn't in a position to properly consent to such a thing. I know you know, and always knew, that you were indulging yourself. I wouldn't like to be whoever has to convince him that you weren't doing him a favor."

"I thought I was doing him a favor!"

"You never thought that. Hours before you left home to check in, you described 'stringbots' climbing out of my lingerie drawer and knew they weren't real. You knew to leave them alone. If there comes a day when you've lost so much of your sense that you can no longer make such a distinction, you will never be allowed within a thousand yards of our children ever again."

This feels both logical and massively unfair. "I would never hurt them. Or you. You know that. You _know_ that." How much trouble would he be in if he tried to get out of the car, tried to just wander away?

"Not intentionally. You would never hurt us intentionally." Charlotte is very tired, he realizes now. She was never so tired back when he was well, or when he could make it seem like he was. 

Perhaps he could try living off the land. Maybe they'd stop looking for him after a few days. His medication would run out, of course, but anything he saw or heard after that would be well-deserved. Charlotte isn't meant to look so tired.

Then she hits him with the cannonball. "Your brother's taking over King's Imports and Exports."

"What? But he's even worse at management than I am! He'll be an absolutely wretched CEO!"

Charlotte huffs out what in happier times would have been a laugh. "I don't disagree. That's what the Board of Directors has decided, though. They're certain that if you're allowed to associate with the company in any capacity, it'll never recover. There could be serious legal repercussions over this whole business. They want you back in London. Getting rid of you will soften the blow to their reputation." 

George has missed London, but he doubts the Board means his house there. "Where will they...have they demanded I go somewhere specific?"

He must sound very frightened. She softens the slightest bit. "They've only specified that it be longer-term than Vernon. Not necessarily permanent. I'm going with you. We'll find somewhere suitable. I'll stay close by and make sure you're not mistreated. You may see the children during the holidays if this proves to be your last...outburst."

 _It will be, I promise, oh God why do I do things like this when it makes her look like that._ "Most people would understand if you decided to wash your hands of me."

They stop at a red light. Charlotte tucks an errant lock of hair behind his ear. "I've considered that, my love. I decided - no, I realized - I couldn't possibly bear to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've messed with the "line of succession" because this version of George IV is too young to take over for his dad.
> 
> The real George III wasn't a particularly bad person and loved his wife to a really atypical extent for a royal arranged mariage.


	2. Friedrich Wilheim von Steuben

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings:  
> \- Implied/Referenced Cheating, though not on any Sharps Hour character
> 
> \- Some lines may give off objectification vibes. I personally think it stays on the non-creepy side of the line, but to be safe.
> 
> \- Slightly more swearing than in the other chapters. It's the Baron. 
> 
> Additional note:  
> I wanted to use the other member of von Steuben's Valley Forge posse who was easy to research. Because of plot, I've reversed the order in which he acquired these two - in real life, he broke up with Pierre at some point by the end of the war, and loved Walker to his dying day and made him one of his heirs. I also fiddled with their ages. Calling him "Ben" or "Benjamin" makes me think of Franklin. This AU's von Steuben gives idiosyncratic nicknames to all his sexual partners, got it?

Friedrich Wilheim von Steuben  
Picked up by: Benjamin Walker  
Relationship: Friend ~~With Benefits~~

"Benjy, I didn't want to tell you in front of staff, but you are a radiant angel with the sunset behind you." Friedrich puts his suitcase in the trunk and closes it. "Remind me to reimburse you for the - LOUISIANA - rental fees for this car."

Benjy laughs and opens the passenger side door for Friedrich. He looks a little ragged from the journey, but he's definitely been moisturizing. Despite the cool air he's only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. "Most people look radiant with the sunset behind them. That's what sunsets do. We'll go halves on the rental fees. You can pay for the room. Don't try to pay any part of my airfare. I'm an independent adult with a career and everything now. I'm not one of your sugar babies."

"Of course not," Friedrich says agreeably, strapping himself in. He adjusts the seat to accommodate his height, though unfortunately he can only do so much to make the car accommodate his breadth. "They get exhausting after a while. I've practically given up on cultivating them. You're a constant. Reliable. All you wish from me is my company."

"You make me sound like Azor."

"In certain outfits, you do remind me of an Italian greyhound." Friedrich needs to collect his dog from the pet sitter tomorrow evening. Pierre loves dogs, especially small dogs. Friedrich checked. He hopes Azor will love Pierre, because it'll be very awkward otherwise.

"That makes little to no sense." Benjy pops a stick of chewing gum in his mouth. "I agree that southbound traffic is a nightmare around here on Fridays, but why does it have to be the nearest hotel? It's practically a motel." Benjy always drives cautiously on narrow roads. It will be a few minutes before they reach a larger one and he'll be his usual creatively-maneuvering self.

"You just said you weren't a sugar baby."

"I'd be happy to spend a night in a shabby tent in the middle of winter with you, mister. I'm just noticing you acting weird."

Friedrich reflexively touches one of his arms, as though he could feel ink marks at all, as though he could also feel them through both his sweater sleeve and shirt sleeve. As though they'd feel like the delicate, dextrous fingers that held the pen. "After lunch and our goodbyes tomorrow, I'll return to Vernon for visiting hours. I won't go home until after that."

Benjy peers at Friedrich over the frames of his large, fashionably-unfashionable glasses. "Please don't tell me you fell for someone -"

"CANOE."

"Gesundheit," Benjy replies, undaunted. He often treats Friedrich's verbal tics like they're sneezes. Friedrich has always found this charming. Also, Friedrich is relieved as shit to be moving on from that damn state name. "Please don't tell me you fell for someone while you were in a psych ward."

"Not like you think. Fellow Tourette's. Not emotionally damaged, or at least not more than the average person. I'm not that cruel or stupid. He's got a good family life. A stable life. He doesn't need me. Which makes it possible to be sure if he genuinely _wants_ me. We're going to go on dates - he lives in Fredricksburg but has never done the battlefield tour and wants to do it together. For a start. Isn't that wonderful?"

Benjy whistles. "I want you to be happy, but with your track record, uh. All I'm saying is that it's been a long time since you've done more than fed and fucked someone. Except me, obviously."

"How's your girlfriend?" Friedrich adjusts the car's heat settings.

The car jolts. Benjy must have hit a pothole. "Fine. She's fine. She thinks I'm here on business. That's not the point." 

"Closets don't help political careers as much as you want to think." Friedrich isn't needling him for its own sake. Nor is he jealous. Benjy has his own life. But Friedrich has seen too many of his friends try similar gambits and get bitten on the ass. In the metaphorical, not potentially-fun way. Also she's probably a nice girl who deserves a repressed and needy _heterosexual_ to take to dinner parties. 

"I said that's not the point." 

"Convenient that she's saving herself for marriage, but I'm not sure what your plan is should you get to that stage..."

Benjy doesn't so much stop at the red light as screech to a halt at it. "Dammit, Friedrich, if you want me to be the one who takes charge and gets rough or whatever, just ask. Don't try to provoke me into it."

They sit in silence until the light changes. More cars now. Soon they will be on a major road. "I'm sorry. Vernon's a healing place, it truly is, but emotions run high even without romance brought into it. They've made me used to sharing my, mm, concerns for others' welfare."

"You're in the real world again." Benjy breathes deeply. In and out. "I know you want what you think is best for me."

"....But I am your friend, not your partner. Or your parent."

"Oh god, why did you have to bring up - talk about anything else. Anything. Talk about Tourette's Boy." Benjy is so far away from having a daddy kink that it resembles a phobia. Mentioning the ten-year gap between him and Friedrich is always guaranteed to chill the mood. 

"His name's Pierre." This is a very welcome change of subject. Even though it's a little embarrassing that Benjy immediately, and correctly, assumed "boy". He was twenty years old when he took a job as Friedrich's research assistant, working for credit in a military history course. Friedrich valiantly didn't made a move until all obligations were complete and he was no longer in a position of authority over an assistant. That was probably how they've managed to maintain a friendship as well. 

"You said he lives in Fredericksburg. Is he a student?"

"Linguistics. He's brilliant and quick-witted, I must tell you. Quadrilingual, if that's the correct prefix. Reads books so fast that he brought six of them just in case, and they're in three of his languages. Has all these clever workarounds for his difficulties. Helpful and kind, but with a cynical edge to it that keeps him from blandness. Loves history and musical theater. Undaunted by horror films. Pleasant singing voice."

"Hmm. Okay, I might have been unfair."

"What makes you think so?" Friedrich privately thinks Benjy is very accurate in his surprise and caution, even if it stings.

"You've praised all sorts of things about him. But you haven't mentioned his looks yet."

"He is absurdly pretty. Fucking adorable. Very petite. When we embrace I can tuck his head right under my chin."

"Yes, but you didn't _start_ with that. Good for you. Maybe you have a shot." He pats Friedrich's leg. "If you say his name in bed tonight, though, I'm going to immediately flee to rural Pennsylvania. On foot if I have to. I don't care how cold it gets." 

"I am perfectly capable of giving you my full attention."

"Is that what we're calling it now?"

This is not the moment to think of Pierre curled beside him on that narrow bed, curved into the sliver left between Friedrich and the wall. The carefully-timed half hours between Cato (or York, on Cato's nights off) checking on them. Pierre tugging at one of Friedrich's hands, guiding it between the boy's waistband and the sensitive skin his loose sweatpants hid from view. Emphatically planting Friedrich's other hand over his mouth, encouraging him to press down. To pin him there. Warm and shivering. What will he sound like when told to be noisy? When ordered not to hold back?

Friedrich clears his throat. "Eyes on the road, young man."

His (handsome, easygoing, longsuffering) friend laughs. "Full attention. Riiiight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that takes place during the Sharps Hour timeline rather than after. Therefore the subsequent ones won't be posted until after Sharps Hour is complete. 
> 
> I have plans. Many plans. Because of all of you people and your empathy and words and love that I never planned on. Hearing from all of you is the highlight of my day.


	3. Benjamin Franklin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fictive relative is one who isn't genetically or legally family, but they totally are anyway.
> 
> Warnings:  
> \- Reference to eating disorder  
> \- Reference to absentee parenthood  
> \- SO MUCH reference to adultery  
> \- Also references to substance abuse

Benjamin Franklin  
Picked up by: Ada Lovelace  
Relationship: ~~Fictive Niece~~  
~~Protege~~  
~~The best thing my great but fucked-up buddy ever produced imho~~  
Friend

"Uncle Frank, let me get that suitcase."

"I'm not that old, and your mother would never forgive me." Franklin plops his bag onto the backseat, since the angle is easier, and then claims the front passenger one.

Ada, as usual, has an oddly dainty sleep-deprived rumpled look to her. A colorful skirt pulled over sweatpants she has probably been wearing for days except to shower and maybe "celebrate breakthroughs". A fawn-colored peacoat with pink accents and also a frayed flannel sleeve peeking out, its cuff discolored with what is probably a Red Bull splash. Beautifully stitched calf-high boots with mismatched laces and a stray bit of duct tape stuck to the sole. A flawless french braid held in place with a cable tie. Dark bags under bright eyes. She smiles at him.

Franklin forgives the universe for many things; they caught her uterine cancer in time. In only two years since she has done so much. He wants to see what she can do with many more decades.

"I don't really want to talk about how I am, other than fine. I've had to talk about my feelings a ridiculous amount for more than two weeks."

"Fair enough. Buckled in? Good. If I start slumping, would you mind taking the wheel so I can nap? I was totally gonna go to bed at a reasonable hour, but we finally figured out what was wrong at 11PM, and I had to fix the syntax so we'll be on schedule and have enough to show Professor Somerville on Tuesday. I love her and that means I want to make her proud, you know?" She sips from an enormous reusable travel mug.

"I hope your boyfriend is pulling his weight."

There's a lot of sunlight, and the road is currently quiet and one lane. Ada seems alert. See how that goes. Then again the only times she's ever slept much were when things were very wrong. 

"Charles isn't my boyfriend, and he's working just as much. But it was a software problem. I'm the software gal. He's the hardware guy." Ada considers what she just said. "If you make a double entendre out of that, I will wait until we're in the middle of nowhere to leave you by the side of the road."

"Under what circumstances will you leave me by the side of the road in a friendly populated area? You should know better than to leave syntactical ambiguity, young lady."

"I wasn't leaving ambiguity." Ada sounds offended at the idea that she might. "I was setting up my next declaration. Those particular circumstances come about if you don't fulfill your promise. The one you made when I visited."

Franklin sighs. "I asked. It doesn't matter if you're family. They can't tell you any details about your father's stay in Vernon. You'll have to content yourself with what you can pry out of your mother and the Shelleys. I'm all out. I gave you a hundred percent. Even the illegal stuff." Like when Byron had a few too many and thought a bear would make a great pet. The zoo staff had been remarkably forgiving. 

"I trust that you did. Damn it. You know what Mom's like about my dad. If it were in her power she'd probably destroy every copy of everything he ever wrote. She got snippy when my fourth grade teacher said I should try poetry club. I'm lucky she told me his real first name, since he always wrote under 'Lord' Byron. Which would piss me off too. If I married the kind of guy who wanted people to call him that."

"It was a hideously messy divorce." Byron used to say that it was just as well Ada had been too young to remember. 

_"You've seen her recently, right? Thank God Annabella already knew you through those anti-human trafficking campaigns you both worked on, and that she forgives you for being my friend, otherwise...how is Ada? How is she?"_

_"You know, if your wife hadn't found you high as a kite in the midst of an all-male threesome, which you tried to fix by assuring her that the woman who was supposed to join in called in sick..."_

_"YOU are CONSTANTLY in compromising situations like those! You're just straight."_

_"I'm also single, and send checks to my illegitimate son on request. Ada is fine. I think she's going to be a genius."_

The car bumps slightly. Pothole, or a ditch. "I have so many half-siblings that I'm considering starting a facebook group. To avoid accidental incest, if nothing else." Ada takes a deep breath and murmurs a count to ten. "The Shelleys are at a sci-fi convention, by the way. Roundabout now, Mary's doing a panel on sexism in geek subcultures and Percy's on a panel judging the Klingon poetry contest. Sounds fun."

"I wasn't aware that Percy knew Klingon."

"They've provided an interpreter. Franklin, do you think I might be bipolar, like he was? Mom's all paranoid about it." They stopped at a red light. Ada looks him in the eye. Her skin is a few shades darker than George Byron's was. She has his nose. 

"I'm not qualified to make diagnoses."

"I'm asking what you think."

"It wasn't obvious in him. No, really, it wasn't. In hindsight, of course, but no matter what, he was an incendiary, melodramatic, fitful, moody person - and those are all things anyone can be without having anything unusual in their brain chemistry. Everyone either cries outside or inside, and we don't always know why. Sometimes we all crackle with fire under our skins and must create. You and I more than some. Him too. Green light."

"Oh, right." They accelerate. Her jaw is clenched, her shoulders rigid.

"Ada. I know your quest isn't just about curiosity or finding evidence of love. Mental illness isn't necessarily about breadth of experience. It's about depth. Extremity. What you have to ask yourself is: Do you want to live? Do you believe your mind will let you live as you wish? And do those who love you agree?" 

"Did he not have that?"

Franklin hears bodiless whispering that he knows to ignore. Poor Richard again, probably. Turn down the radio signal. He has a real person with him. "He rarely had all at once."

"He had you." Ada knew Franklin eventually refused to update Byron on Ada's welfare unless he at the very least sorted out his eating disorder. _I don't want to have to update her on your untimely death!_

"You also have me."

She relaxes a little. "I guess so. You wanna hear about the 'Difference Engine'?"

He isn't simply flattering her when he lights up and says: "Do tell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll leave you to enjoy most of the references on your own. But here's something I learned for the first time while fact-checking:
> 
> Lady Anne Isabella "Annabella" Byron is one of very few women depicted in the painting commemorating the 1840 World Anti-Slavery Conference, and also worked on prison reform. She had an excellent, Cambridge-level private education. She made sure to hire a badass physicist (among other things), Mary Somerville, to tutor Ada in as much STEM stuff as she could possibly handle. 
> 
> So, give it up not only for Ada, but Annabella and Mary.


	4. Pierre Etienne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only chapter rated M rather than T.
> 
> The historical inspiration for this Pierre was born Pierre Etienne du Ponceau and later changed it to Peter Stephen du Ponceau to better fit in his new country. Similarly, my version's full name is Pierre Nguyen Etienne to fit his backstory.
> 
> Chapter specific tags (not warnings per se):  
> \- Essentially one long, affectionate, cheerful BDSM scene negotiation in a car  
> \- POV character is in subspace  
> \- Light bondage  
> \- Light European nobility kink  
> \- Accommodations for anxiety and Tourette's  
> \- Discussion of various possible/planned kinky activities  
> \- Consent and communication culture  
> \- I call this OuiT3, with a dash of referenced Frieere.

Pierre Etienne  
Picked up by: [names and names and names] Gilbert de Motier, Marquis de Lafayette  
Relationship: ~~Dom 1/2, maybe 1/3~~ Friend

_"Are you ready to not be Pierre for awhile?"_

_"Yes! Green. Vert."_

_"Yes, what?"_

_"Yes, Marquis."_

_"Very good."_

The Marquis has come to take his (and the Marquise's) toy home. This is very good news. Already, the world is soft-edged and simple. The Marquis presses him against the car's exterior, a hand in his hair and an arm around his waist, lips joined and exploring tongue received gladly. Renewing his particular claim to ownership. Not sole ownership, but well-established.

The toy obediently sits in the passenger seat of the car and leans forward so the Marquis can wrap him in a blanket. Cocooned up to his neck, he can't move much without disturbing the blanket, but if something bad happens he can get himself free. Also anyone who sees them won't make an unfortunate assumption like they might with most bondage types. The seat belt buckles over the blanket. Very safe.

The Marquis begins driving them. "Let's review." He sometimes speaks French and sometimes English, whatever feels natural. The difference rarely registers when they are like this. Understanding is understanding.

"Toys don't need to review all the safewords every time."

"Toys come with instruction manuals so that people playing with them can take good care of them. Also, that isn't a request."

"Yes, Marquis. I'm sorry."

"Forgiven. Now, what exactly does 'yellow', in any language, mean?"

"The Marquis and Marquise need to stop and talk to their toy."

"Red?"

"Lafayette and Adrienne need to stop and talk to Pierre."

"What means Adrienne and Lafayette need to stop, unbind Pierre, reassure him, and possibly fix some sort of harm?" The Marquis puts it that way because it's a word he and the Marquise are incapable of pronouncing. The two languages they speak do not contain the phonemes or tones. This means it could never be an echo.

_Echoed 'yellow' and 'red' have occurred, and everything stops anyway just in case, but Pierre finds that frustrating. One of the reasons he likes being bound and gagged is to get away from his tics. Physically he can no longer do them, and the gentle fuzz of subspace means he almost never feels the impulse to start with._

It also serves as a safeword for when the toy's mouth is full. He can still say it then. All back-of-the-throat sounds. It means "to have misgivings". In that situation his mouth will first be freed for a color check; repeating it after that makes the standard meaning apply.

_"Nghi ngờ."_

"Very good. Now I can tell you what we're going to do with you tonight." The Marquis says it like everything is inevitable, but that isn't exactly true. "You're going to put your things in their usual place under the bed. Don't want to have to fetch them later when we're all ready to sleep. You will eat dinner in either a normal, Pierre way, or hands tied with us feeding you."

"The second, Marquis."

"Yes. After dinner, it's my turn to tidy up, so the Marquise gets to start making you clean and especially pretty. I'll join in when I've finished the chores. We'll strip you naked and leave you that way, or we'll lace you into in your corset."

"The second, Marquis."

"Wonderful. We found a variety of lipstick that can survive being sat on without smearing much, isn't that nice? Yves tried it." Sometimes the Marquis is the Marquise's toy instead, and when that happens he's called Yves. It's one of the small names he has that are part of his long, grand one.

"Thirsty." Honorifics are unnecessary for expressing needs.

They are still on the quiet one-lane road, so it's easy for the Marquis to hold the water bottle to his toy's lips while still driving. After putting the bottle away, he continues, "Then you'll be caned or spanked."

"The first, Marquis." 

_Unlike certain other fencing styles, Lafayette's specialty, sabre, rewards slashing as well as stabbing. Which means he's spent thousands of hours quickly and unpredictably making sideways strikes with a long, thin implement. He had to get used to aiming below the waist, though. He wouldn't get points for that in a match. Sport sabre fencing originated from cavalry sword fighting on horseback; you wouldn't want to hit a potentially valuable horse if you could help it._

"Indeed! Not as much as usual, though, because you have a long car ride the following afternoon. We don't want you to be too sore when your new playmate takes you home with him for the first time. That would be bad manners. We'll have a chat over lunch before we let him leave with you. Make sure he knows how to care for you properly. Is your current fidgeting from anxiety or excitement?"

"Yes, Marquis." 

New, wonderful developments always come with more opportunities for things to go wrong. Will the Baron (there had been time to discuss nomenclature and certain shared European-nobility kinks) want to keep a plaything whose throat closes up so tightly at the slightest touch of a cock that it's unusable? It can't even handle ball gags that are too large. There hadn't been time to bring up that embarrassing fact. 

What about how badly he handles most in-scene surprises and how often he needs reassurance? And will everyone get along? And what if the Baron had actually only wanted him for lack of other options, and now in the real world the Baron will decide he can do better, and -

A hand in his hair, fingers lightly scratching. Mmmmmm.

"Sweet one, trust us." The car's minor jolt from a bump in the road is disconcerting for a second, but the Marquis gives a fond pat to a blanket-colored thigh before putting his right hand back on the wheel. "Color for continuing this discussion?"

"Green. What will happen next, Marquis?"

"We'll soothe you and suggest a bathroom break, and then we'll cuff you to the bed and kiss you and tease you a bit." The Marquis' smile is a mischievous one. It's perfectly fine for the toy to come untouched at any point, and once in awhile he does, but no one helps him get there with a hand or mouth until after both of them have used him at least once. Often they string him along with light brushes or brief rubs until he's whimpering for more. 

"I would like to serve the Marquise with my tongue, if I may, Marquis." Much of the time he prefers choosing between offered options, since that requires less thought, but he's encouraged to express preferences of his own accord. It's possible for the answer to be, "Not this time," but they like hearing what he wants all the same.

"That was the very next item on the list. Perfect. What would you like me to do with you?"

"Surprise me please, Marquis."

"Really?" That's not unheard of, but rare.

"Green."

They stop at a red light. "Very well. After that, our typical course of action." By which he means they will help the toy come, everyone will shower together, there might be snacks (Adrienne always gets hungry after sex), and Pierre must take his medication before they get ready to sleep. He sleeps in the center of the bed. An acceptable, pleasant surprise, as long as they don't need to get up early, is if someone starts touching Pierre in the middle of the night. Pierre stays Pierre for that.

"Very green."

"Haha. You and I - since I'm the one who's met him - need to discuss what you want out of your relationship with Friedrich, and any concerns you have. That way I can support you better during the 'official meeting'. But that's a Lafayette-and-Pierre conversation, and we don't have to have it immediately." 

"Not now, please, Marquis."

"Then hold this for me, precious thing." The Marquis produces a clean handkerchief and quickly presses it into the toy's waiting mouth before the traffic light changes.

He is careful to not let any of the cloth show. He's a good toy and can do that. Many very wonderful things will happen soon, and he knows that if something goes wrong nobody will be angry. His mind goes even quieter, everything still and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It annoys me a little how often fic characters have no gag reflex, especially the first time they try. It exists for important reasons and in most cases is something you learn how to suppress, folks. Also sometimes people can't handle certain sex acts in general, for whatever reason, and that's okay.
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE: I have started writing and posting the scene itself in a separate fic in this series: Bonsoir. http://archiveofourown.org/works/6604774/chapters/15110767


	5. Thomas Jefferson ('s coming ho-ome)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I'm tired but still itching to write, I sometimes write dialogue-only. Hope it still makes sense. 
> 
> The Hamilton musical makes one (1) reference to the musical 1776, which I got to see live at age 11 in the very same theater where Lincoln got shot. (The seat's still there, just fenced off.) If you're unfamiliar, it's about John Adams teaming up with Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin, and others to get Congress to agree to declare independence. Abigail gives John psychic advice throughout. 
> 
> The reference in Hamilton: "SIT DOWN JOHN!"  
> The references in this chapter: umpteen jillion, coexisting with Hamilton ones

Thomas Jefferson  
Picked up by: Abigail Smith (professionally), Abigail Smith-Adams (personally)  
Relationship: Friend, Former Attorney

"Washington's briefed you on this whole elaborate behind-the-scenes deal, right?"

"Yup. Thanks for picking me up on this humid Monday morning, Abigail. I guess it had been too much to hope for that dear ol' J.A. would have sought help just to get help."

(Sigh) "He's improved. It's a work in progress. Anyway, Seabury has formally agreed not to sue in exchange for not being billed for wound care, and for a portion of his Vernon stay to be complimentary. The logic is that his distress will make him need more psych support than he otherwise would. Pain and anguish repayment in kind, as it were. I won't be needed. We passed along any useful intel on George King to Theodosia Burr."

"Sam didn't deserve that."

"In the end, I would say we don't deserve Sam. Or, apparently, John Laurens?"

"You seem to know a lot about what goes on in there."

"Nothing medical, don't worry. Equivalent of work gossip. 'John Laurens stared down Cornwallis and deflated an attempt at patient abuse' was the extent of it. People talk to Aaron, who talks to Theodosia, who talks to me." 

Sung: "And we-e-e are never ever ever getting back together...Taylor Swift? No? I thought feminists love her."

"Charming. Thomas, I'm not Dolley. I'm not going to indulge your every whim. Having you around perks John up since you two mended fences."

"Is that the only reason you put up with me? Aren't I good with Quincy and Abigail jr. and the rest?"

"Ever since Abbie found out I defended you over assault charges, not so much. Even though I told her I wouldn't have done it if John hadn't seen the altercation and known that Dickinson swung first. And that his lawyer tried to hinge the case on your bipolar disorder. I couldn't let that stand. Ugh. One useless man is a disgrace, two can make up a law firm..."

"Thank you. I am, as I ever was, and ever shall be yours."

"Theodosia says they're going to take Howe to court for accepting bribes, negligence, and the aforementioned attempted patient abuse. Cornwallis as accessory."

"Wow. You know, Laurens is a good kid. He puts up with Hamilton, so he's got the patience of a saint, too. I hope he's getting at least an occasional handjob out of it or something."

"As I said, utterly charming. You really went into a tailspin into appalling-land after she died."

"..."

"It had to be said; don't puppy eyes at me."

"...Mrs. Adams, leave me alone..."

"All right, all right, I'll leave you alone. John's looking forward to lunch and reminiscence about that newsletter you worked on together. Years ago."

"The Declaration?"

"That."

"Mm. Good times. Things were simpler. Hey, did you know that Hamilton is Washington's foster kid? Or was?"

"No. I found out when John called him a 'mouthy Latino boy' after getting out and Washington very rightly verbally ripped him to shreds. I gave John a piece of my mind too, when we got home. I told him there's a reason people call him obnoxious and disliked, even if he's my dearest friend."

"What about the Kings? Do you know if someone's going after them? Or them going after someone?"

"Looked into it. King's Imports and Exports are trying to creep away and lick their wounds. Throwing money left and right to appease people. Edward King, really. He sent George III packing back to England. If Howe throws Ed under the bus Theodosia and co. will pursue it, but they're seeing how that goes. Charlotte King called me up to apologize, actually. The evidence shows that all she did was donate money with be-lenient-with-my-husband strings attached - oof!"

"What was that?"

"Pothole. It's fine, I was just surprised."

"Eyes on the road, momma. Look sharp."

"God, these Virginia drivers. The Boston roads are ridiculous but the drivers don't flinch when they see a dead leaf floating in the air."

"Hey, Virginia is my home."

"Right. Anyway, she hasn't done anything illegal. Nothing we can pin on her. We can't find any pins whatsoever."

"It's not morals, it's money that saves." 

"Yes, it wasn't the most ethical, but she got tunnel vision. It's hard, being in fierce, protective love with a husband who's not who he used to be."

"Hard for who, Mrs. Adams?"

"Hush. We've reached an intersection."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A summary of the first ten minutes or so of 1776:
> 
> SIT DOWN JOHN, SIT DOWN JOHN, FOR GOD SAKE'S JOHN SIT DOWN!
> 
> I say vote yes! Vote yes! Vote for independency!!!!!!
> 
> NO! SIT DOWN JOHN!
> 
>  
> 
> _Johhhhhn, Johhhhhn, is that you carrying on?_
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, Abigail... ;_;
> 
> (Meanwhile Franklin is witty and bawdy, young newlywed TJeff is cute and mopey, and RICHARD HENRY LEE loves adverbs)


	6. James Madison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may or may not have noticed that there is a new fic in this 'verse, Bonsoir, that serves as a sequel to chapter 3 of this fic. In Bonsoir, Pierre, Lafayette, and Adrienne actually do the sexy things rather than just talking about them.

James Madison  
Picked up by: Dolley Madison  
Relationship: Spouse

The first thing he said was, "I can kiss you today. Without preamble." So they did.

"Would you like to drive us home?" Dolley asked. "I have papers to grade and it would be nice to knock a few out of the way if I can."

"Yes. It's a good day for that." James was impressed that she could read and write in a moving car without getting queasy. He accepted his special driving gloves from her outstretched hands, pulled them on, and opened the car door. 

"Before you put on the music, Jemmy, I want to mention a few things I didn't feel up to discussing with Thomas hovering around us. I support you being birds of a feather, and I was happy to compensate for him not getting any visitors of his own, but..." She fastened her seatbelt and gestured at him to start the car.

"I know." James' work as a patent attorney introduced him to Thomas a couple years previously, when some confusion arose regarding the inherited swivel chair patent that made up a significant portion of the Jefferson family wealth. Thomas had asked him out to lunch and not at any point been dismissive or incredulous about James' needs. That made up for a lot of other things.

She smiled and unzipped her briefcase. "Payne's current understanding of your situation is that since people are scared of different things, and you're scared of things most people aren't, you went away to learn about how to be less scared and how to deal with it if you get scared anyway. I told him this is all okay and that it has nothing to do with how much you love him. And it's just as important as the medicine to help you breathe, even if Payne can't see it as easily."

"I never give you enough credit for how much credit you give me. I still don't know what I did to deserve you two in my life."

"Not blinked when you found out your date was widowed with a child? That scared a few guys off before you came along."

"I'd be angry at them, except it was my good luck. You were saying."

"Right." Dolley's plastic folder looked ready to burst with double-spaced student writing as she pulled it out. "We talked over things that are good to do all the time, but especially with you. Things like washing hands and asking before he touches you or anything belonging to you. Plus some simple things like putting dirty clothes in the basket so you're comfortable going into his room to say goodnight. Leaving his shoes on the porch and not bringing them inside. Being patient when you have to check the door six times to make sure it's really locked. That you stack papers or tap things because it helps you feel safe, not because you're being silly. Of course we went over a lot of these things before we all started living together, but he's become really motivated to do it right."

Warmth bloomed in James' chest even as he dodged a pothole. "I hope he's not too anxious about messing up, though."

"I told him that nobody's perfect, and things will go wrong, but we will fix them. The important thing is to try and that you'll never be mad at him for forgetting something. He needs to hear that from you as well." Dolley uncapped her red pen. "Did you talk to your inpatient therapist about..."

"Yes, yes I did." It had been embarrassing, but she'd been helpfully pragmatic about it all. "I'll lay it all out in detail later, but I want to tell you my two favorite suggestions. One is that I trust condoms because they're individually wrapped and inside a bigger container, right? She told me to try looking for dental dams that are packaged the same way. The other one is that safewords have uses beyond BDSM. If I know I can easily signal that I'm getting very uncomfortable, with the understanding that we can stop with no shame or guilt, I will probably be able to try more things. Follow the concept and see where it goes."

"This is also the one who helped you find and make an appointment with an OCD specialist, right? Would it be appropriate to send her a fruit basket?"

James laughed. "I talked to her about my guilt that I can't stand having a stranger clean the house unless I supervise - and that our previous weekly cleaning lady probably thought I had a weird fetish - so you have to do tons of housework that I can't handle. We broke down what makes me unable to handle each chore and figured out ones I can learn and take over if I stop assuming I can't. Like putting away clean dishes from the dishwasher. Transferring clothes from the washer to the dryer, and folding and putting away the ones that don't need ironing. Watering the houseplants and lawn. Making sure Payne's outfit and backpack are all ready to go the next morning. She shared some insights about the phenomenon of 'learned helplessness'."

"Fruit basket and large box of chocolates, surely. Intersection coming up. Want me to put on Spotify?" Dolley knew it helped him cope with traffic.

"Yes, babydoll, thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who is unable to do household tasks because of disability, nothing in this chapter is meant to suggest you should just "deal with it" or something equally ableist. 
> 
> SharpHour!James still can't do things involving touching stuff he considers dirty, things involving blades, objects that heat up, etc. One of his personal goals is to increase the range of chores he can do, and it turns out his particular symptoms will let him, and he finds that empowering. Dolley is cheered by his empowerment and by her knowlege that some of his motivation is love, not simply by any increased convenience. She only wants him to do what he can. They are happy to find any additional things he can do.
> 
> /psa


	7. John Jay (Weekend Pass)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deborah Sampson and her wife Molly have been lovingly borrowed from the Nightstalker series by OscarthegrouchILOVETRASH, which is in turn part of the Quid Pro Quo 'verse created by rillrill : 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/414184
> 
> This chapter contains Jay reminiscing about his suicide attempt in a non-graphic manner.

Special note: involuntary patient stay complete, patient has chosen to spend two and a half days getting affairs in order before returning voluntarily.

John Jay  
Picked up by: Deborah Sampson  
Relationship: Colleague

 

Jay's started to recover some emotional range by this point, but not enough to be intimidated by Deborah Sampson. He remembers having been, though. They've always moved in different spheres, but she's sharp, ruthless, and entirely too often right.

Now that he's less than a month post-suicide attempt, now that he's barely begun repairing his marriage, now that he's lost his job and dignity, none of that matters. What matters is that a few days ago Nurse Molly asked if it was okay to give her wife his email address, and he figured why not?

"You got your weekend pass or whatever all stamped?" Deborah asks. 

"Yes. Thanks for making the trip." Jay's bag is small enough that he simply sticks it in the back before making his way to the passenger seat. No reason to open the trunk, below which is a brightly colored bumper sticker: IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU HAVE LEARNED PHONEMES. 

"Happy to; no point in you waiting around for Molly to finish her shift when I'm working from home today. I just don't want to be accused of abducting you." Her trench coat is belted but unbuttoned, and he can see the writing on her t-shirt.

 _Today's gay agenda:_  
_1\. Work_  
_2\. Pick up dry cleaning_  
_3\. Destroy civilization_  
_4\. Watch TV_

Jay puts on his seatbelt and she starts the car. "I need a few hours tomorrow to meet with Sarah, and I'd appreciate a ride to counselor's office."

"Your ex-wife?"

"Not yet. She says she might be persuaded otherwise." He'd been falling apart for a long time, but it was Sarah's departure that pushed him over the edge. He hadn't expected her to run back, struck with dread over his possible reaction, and discover him not quite dead on the bathroom floor. She called 911, of course, but he couldn't blame her for not being able to bring herself to visit. 

"Sure." Deborah glances at him as if checking to see if that was a safe response. He's gotten used to people treating him like a spooked horse. "Otherwise you're all mine?"

"I guess, though I've still got only a vague idea of what you want me for." All she said in their email exchange was, _Up for collab? I know your limitations, can work w/them._ Molly had figured out logistics.

Back to business. "E-e-excellent. I'd steeple my fingers if they were free. How much do you know about Nightseeker?"

"You report 'what The District's done in the dark'. I've read a few articles. I appreciate your efforts to get #OldHickory trending after presenting evidence that Andrew Jackson's beating of a homeless man with his walking stick wasn't self-defense. No matter what the court ruled." 

"Funny you should mention Secretary 'Presidential Hopeful' Jackson." Deborah pulls a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment and puts them on one-handed. "Sacagawea's been feeding me info on the guy - she said I could tell you - and on the Lewis and Clark shitshow. I've got some people on that angle, but we're going to tread lightly and avoid publishing until we can figure out how to do it without making things worse for Lewis. Sacagawea's going to broach the subject when she believes he's ready."

"He's not ready."

She nods and casually flips off some guy on a Harley-Davidson. "You're uniquely qualified to know. Meanwhile, looking into Jackson packing Lewis off to Vernon in case he has ulterior motives, I ran into the George King thing. Guess who's a major donor to Jackson's proto-campaign?"

"George's brother? That's fascinating, but I don't see how I...not while I'm doing my voluntary hospitalization..."

"Those are all things my team and I are qualified to write about. I can't write about George King himself, or what he did, and only so much about the whole surrounding drama involving, like, half the Vernon staff." They hit a pothole, but she ignores it. "I could interview you, of course. Washington, the Burrs, and obviously Molly are practically throwing insider details at me, but I risk a minefield of ableism. Real or imagined. A lot of people think that just because I don't use kid gloves, I must invariably be using steel gauntlets."

Jay agrees. The scandal - it has the makings of one - could lead to Vernon's reputation as a whole being unfairly tarnished, or worsen the stigma against schizophrenics, or at the very least give more credence to the common dismissal of Nightseeker as "a bunch of vicious bitches". " I was a patient who saw things firsthand."

"If you're willing to put yourself out there, people are more likely to take the story as an indictment of how certain interests put the mentally ill at risk, despite the efforts of the best medical professionals. You're John Jay. Your 'Supreme Court Injustices' series put two scumbags behind bars and led to three resignations. You exposed a human trafficking ring operating out of NYC and drummed up support for a much-needed labor rights bill. Your column on the Constitution ended after only five installments when you, uh..."

"Got sick," Jay supplied.

"But it was succinct. Persuasive. Actually a pleasant read, to boot. Sure, Jefferson and Madison aren't half bad writers, but from what Molly tells me, I'd give Madison several meltdowns before the job was done. I've met Jefferson, and he makes me want to throw things at him after a few minutes of interaction at most. Washington showed me some of Hamilton's work, and the kid's got some definite chops and agreed to an interview, but he's still a human hurricane. I don't have time for that. You're by far the best. I know you've had the mother of all writer's block lately..."

"Actually..."

They stop at a red light. Deborah looks at him, but this time it's different. He's still recovering his ability to read facial expressions. "Oh?"

"It's still. Uh. A slog. But my therapist had me examine exactly how the block worked. She instructed me to write about a neutral subject. No go, I hated everything and she agreed it was pretty bad. A pleasant subject. I couldn't think of one that I found pleasant rather than knew I was supposed to find pleasant."

"Ouch."

"Then something that made me angry - by then I'd learned how to feel angry again. She also forbade me to erase or delete anything I wrote until she'd seen it. I wrote several thousand words about my wife losing her job and not getting the severance package she should have, and that I was too depressed at the time to help. I don't think it's good, but my therapist liked it, and she approves of our collaboration."

"Do you have it?"

"In a folder in my bag."

"I'll take a look if you're up for it. You know I never sugarcoat."

"Yeah, that's why I think I can work with you. I believe your praise."

"We'll figure out a system involving Sharps Hours and journaling time when you go back to the ward. I don't want to distract you from your recovery." The light turns green, and she grins. "Have you seen the various theater reviews that describe Nellie Bly as 'Deborah Sampson meets Amelia Earhart'? I've made a scrapbook of them, I'm not ashamed to say."

"No, but the comparison will be even more apt after you help me with the King story." Maybe he can look into more widespread abuses in mental healthcare. Vernon is one of the best facilities in the country, and far worse happens in far worse places. They simply don't involve rich or famous people. 

"I'm glad you're the one who said it. Molly wants me to work on my ego, and I tell her that her agreeing to marry me doesn't help. Seriously, though, I think you and I can get some shit done."

It's good to feel righteously angry. It's alive. It's clean. It makes him think of _after I'm better_. He tells her so, less eloquently than his thoughts.

But she understands. "There's a bit from the song 'Keep Going', in that musical, where she raps that wrath may be a sin, but indifference is a poison."

"I wouldn't mind listening to the soundtrack, I think." Pierre, Alexander, and a few of the others have enthused about it at length, but until the last two or three days Jay hasn't felt enough energy to try new things. 

"That can be arranged. Done talking for now? You sound tired."

"I am. But I can listen, and talk after I've recovered a bit." He turns the thought over and over in his mind, like a smooth pebble:

_After I've recovered at bit. After I'm better._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical John Jay was the Founder who actually made slavery illegal in New York state. Hamilton, Burr, and Mulligan (presumably after freeing Cato, bc otherwise wut) made efforts, but Jay became governor and got the law through the state legislature. He was also one of the first Supreme Court justices. 
> 
> A round of applause for John Jay!


	8. Alexander Hamilton

Alexander Hamilton  
Picked up by: Dr. George Washington  
Relationship: Former Foster Parent

Alexander climbs into the car with a painful slowness he hopes isn't obvious. He doesn't want John to have noticed and therefore worry. It's three days before he can visit John, and to a lesser extent Jay, Sam, and Lewis, who've all improved by several degrees. 

(Jay in particular got a lot livelier after he switched to voluntary status and started writing again. And once his wife started visiting him. He can participate in Sharps Hour and use scissors in art therapy and everything.)

George Washington notices Alexander's winces, of course. "Is it your knees?"

"Head, shoulders, knees, and toes. And ankles. And outlook on life. I'm supposed to be _done_ being sick for now." Alexander reclines the passenger seat as far as it will go. "Please, take me to the land of a couch I don't have to fight Voltaire for, and a bathtub I can fill up with hot water and random fancy salts I find in its proximity."

"I'm sorry to hear that your body's acting up. Don't obsess over what this means for your plans, okay? Relax, have dinner with us, and watch something not too exciting. There's a present for you in the glove compartment." George starts up the car and pulls out of the employee parking lot. The sun isn't setting yet, but it's low in the sky.

Alexander opens the glove compartment as instructed and takes out a small, flat, rectangular package wrapped in green-and-blue paper. "Poor Lewis was all confused by my deep hatred of hiking. I wasn't ready to come out to the others about my Lyme disease yet. I might tell John at some point. Oh, hey, it's my own checkbook! And credit card! Thanks!"

He isn't being sarcastic. When he senses he's slipping into mania, the current standard procedure is for him to decide with George how much money he actually needs for the next three weeks, with a small extra allotment in case they underestimate. He withdraws that amount in cash. Then he mails his checkbook to the Washingtons so he can't use it in New York, as well as his carefully cushioned credit and debit cards. If the danger phase persists past three weeks, George sends him a predetermined amount from Alexander's own account. Alexander refuses handouts no matter what phase he's in.

_Otherwise that jacket fits him so well, it would be a crying shame not to get it. Or he decides he should take all his friends out to dinner. They're so wonderful. He's just being nice. Or he needs to donate to this charity. This campaign. That one. If he wants to be taken seriously at the internship, he needs new shoes. Better shoes. Maybe another pair, to be safe. Ooh, a signed hardback first edition of one of his favorite books...he has so many favorite books..._

Alexander is getting an MA in Economics. He does a lot of unofficial online yelling about politics, but he doesn't want to deal with people picking apart his personal life like all politicians inevitably suffer. He also has a strong interest in law, but he has a gut feeling he'd get tired of it after a few years. 

He's interested in how the system works. How to make it better. He can see the wealth of nations, the ups and downs of the Treasury and Federal Reserve, the horrific-yet-glorious chaos of Wall Street. He toured the U.S. Mint and felt oddly at home. He can explain exactly what the IMF is, and does, and why it matters, on about half an hour of sleep. He has a million ideas he hasn't yet expressed about how to make financial systems stronger. Less unfair and exploitative. Less plain absurd. How to give an increasingly stalling economy a diuretic rather than a sedative. He can argue in favor of certain taxes, needed to fund certain important causes, and make people who start out violently opposing him eventually agree with him, or at least compromise. 

But when he gets a certain way, he does not, cannot, handle his own money. George giving the controls back to him is a vote of confidence. It means George truly believes he's recovered.

George smiles a little, facing the road but towards Alexander all the same. "Regardless of how your health works out, what are you planning to do about your car? Which is still parked at Columbia?" When Alexander was really, really, exceptionally manic, as he'd been on his way to Vernon, he was too jittery to drive a long distance. 

"There's a...uh...a guy, a guy I know, he offered to drive my car down, maybe hang out a bit, and take a train back later." Alexander braces himself. The Washingtons have always accepted Alexander's sexuality, but they get worried about his haphazard way of flinging himself from relationship to relationship, often not waiting for the previous one to develop, let alone end.

"A guy."

"Yup."

"I realize it's not my business, but if you will be compassionate towards my concerns: 1. Does he think he's dating you? 2. Is he right?"

Squirm time. He's not ashamed. He doesn't think the Washingtons would dislike his...something. The problem is he has a tendency to get involved with people who need even more accommodation and/or support than he does. And he is rarely equipped to give it. 

"I'm not sure, but it my defense, we have communication issues."

"In your defense." George isn't being accusatory. He's asking for clarification.

"Literal communication issues. I'm learning American Sign Language as fast as I can, but there's only so many hours in a day."

"Ohhhh."

"Um. He writes his name as 'Thom', with an 'h', but his Sign nickname is 'Thumb'. I call him 'Thumb-Pinky' when I'm teasing him. His last name's Pinckney, you see. He calls me 'Unicorn'." Alexander can't help but chuckle, even though he feels taut as a bowstring.

George steers around pothole and appears to gather his thoughts. "I was under the impression you were falling for John Laurens, actually."

"In another life I might, but John's like those beautiful fuzzy seafoam green lunar moths that would get hurt if they flew into a candle, you know? And I'm more like a bonfire than a candle flame. He can fly _around_ me safely. I don't want him flying _at_ me. Also he's too pure for this world. Let alone me."

"You've rehearsed that speech."

"Yup. Knew you'd ask."

"You're sufficiently into this...how'd you meet Thom?"

"I have an amicable ex who's his in-class interpreter. He can only lipread short, highly enunciated sentences, and I've only mastered fingerspelling and a few hundred words with terrible grammar. We compensate with writing or typing and muddle through. You see why that might not sustain a full-on romance. That's why I haven't really told anyone about him." Also imagine the jokes Thomas Jefferson would have made about blabbermouth Alexander finally finding someone who could endure him. If dueling were still a thing, Alexander would have pretty much been obligated to try and shoot him.

A significant portion of the words Alexander has learned, mostly from Thom himself, have been dirty. Thom has trouble lipreading at the best of times, let alone in low lighting at weird angles while highly distracted. Especially during the occasional times he asks Alexander to tie him up (which functionally gags him as well, so they use a headshaking system for safewording).

George makes a thoughtful noise. "You're sufficiently into this classmate that you're attempting to learn a whole new language to simplify communication with him. He's sufficiently into you that he's volunteered to drive a substantial distance so the rest of your semester off is more convenient."

"Wait, are you for once encouraging me to date 'dangerously'?" Alexander is using that as shorthand for relationships that are sure to demand high emotional labor and honesty from him if they aren't to crash and burn. George and Martha always been lovingly leery about this pattern, as they're the ones who end up putting him back together. Though at least since Lafayette swept into their lives they've been able to outsource some of the Alexander-mending.

"No. I'm encouraging you, as I do in general, to see things as they are instead of as you think they should be." They stop at a red light. George adds, in a less lofty voice, "He can stay with us if he visits, but it'd be nice if he slept in a guest room."

"Okay."

"Uh huh. I'm not an idiot. When one of you inevitably sneaks into the other person's room, please be quiet about it, use protection, and dispose of it in a discreet and sensible fashion."

"Promise." Alexander and Thom will have to do some problem-solving. Thom's really goddamn hot and as dextrous as anyone could ask for, but through no fault of his own he has no idea how loud he is. 

"Good." George clears his throat. "Martha's named a stray cat after you. It comes and goes but lets us feed it and touch it when it's in the right frame of mind."

"I am sure there is only one meaning, and no symbolism, to that choice."

The light turns green. "Well, she named it after what Lafayette sometimes calls you. 'Hammie' is a better name for a cat than 'Alexander', I think."

"Heh. I agree." Alexander takes out his phone and sends a few vital texts.

TO M-WASH:  
G's got me. got Excedrin? evil tick time begins D:

TO LAFAYETTE:  
yo mon ami I'm out woo we must adventure

TO PIERRE:  
I'm out hmu sometime cutie-pierre

TO NED:  
Maybe tweak DC reunion, lyme :( but met great guy you might like getting coffee w in a few months when he's emerged from chrysalis & has strong wings 

TO POLLY:  
Got your email, need to think. No matter what super happy for you I'mma shank any transphobes within MILES of you. ps do you think Thumb's rly into me? You still work with him y/y? Does he mention me?

TO ADRIENNE:  
You said something to me about how polyamory means you don't have to be all things to one person; it can reduce burden of care. Can we talk about that sometime? Laf or no Laf is fine. I love you too, you know.

TO THOM:  
Got permission, can't wait! Gotta be quiet tho, you ok with gags? Biting pillows? 

TO THOM:  
Also are we dating each other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adrienne has excellent English, but reading text-speak in a language you're not fluent in is incredibly difficult. Alexander knows this. (Sharps Hour!Lafayette is fluent, just idiosyncratic.)


	9. John Laurens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This immediately follows Epilogue Part 1 of Sharps Hour.
> 
> If you were intrigued by the discussion of Thom Pinckney last chapter, and have not already done so, check out the new "Afternoon Itches" in this very same AU.

John Laurens  
Picked up by: Martha Manning  
Relationship: ~~Long-lost-miraculously-reunited~~ Friend

"We can't get into the car unless we stop hugging. It's going to be a challenge to shuffle out of this lobby, too." 

John makes an inarticulate mournful noise but lets go of her. He keeps her in his line of sight as he chucks his duffel bag into the backseat. He still keeps an eye on her as they get into their respective seats.

"I'm not going to vanish if you take your eyes off me for a second."

"You do in my dreams, Martian."

She looks at him like he's a wet, shivering puppy. "In mine, everyone at your funeral says it was my fault. Let's agree to not apologize anymore, directly or indirectly, because we've both been apologizing to each other for a long time now. I don't just mean since we got back in touch." She starts the car. 

"Fair enough." Then he glances at her hands on the steering wheel and gasps. "You're married? When? Who? Wow??"

Martian's ring doesn't shine in the sunlight nearly as much as her smile does. "Last year. Jane. You know how I went to study in England. We met at a rally. She had a big sign that said 'Pride vs. Prejudice'. We live in Hampshire now. She's a tour guide at the Winchester Cathedral and also does a really witty non-heteronormative romantic advice column: 'Persuasions'. I work for a new agriculture think tank associated with the U of Win. Their token American they like to dispatch here because I'll relate better or something. I was in Kansas for a wheat conference. I know that sounds thrilling. Your French Santa Claus of a buddy -"

"That would make him Pere Noel," John points out.

She laughs. "Indeed. He found me on Facebook and had this whole grand plan. He and his wife are clearing your apartment of any mold civilizations that might have arisen since your hospitalization. So we can stay there, if you don't mind. I can get a hotel, too. Jane won't be jealous either way. Lafayette, um, he was the one who stopped you, right?"

"Yeah."

"Mm."

The trees are bright and lively, but the silence in the car gets more and more painful. He doesn't want to be reminded of another tense car ride they'd had together, even if she's the one driving this time. "Tell me more about Jane."

"Ooh! She's pregnant, and we are nervous and excited and oh wow. The donor is the brother of some of her best friends. Sisters. Emily and Charlotte. And Anne. His name's Branwell. He's in rehab right now, which is tough, but he loves his family and we're all rooting for him." Martian adjusts her rearview mirror. 

"If he has the sense to love you and people you love, he can't be too bad." John twitches in surprise when Martian casually boops his nose with her pinkie finger. It's not a bad surprise. It's just something he thought would never happen again.

"You're a charmer. When it comes to stereotypical parental roles, I've always wanted to be 'the dad'. I like fetching Jane snacks and giving her foot rubs, and I want to hold her hand in the delivery room. I want to pick up the kid and twirl them around. I want to help with homework and make lame jokes. I want to get way too invested in my child's extracurricular activities. And play games of catch and be a bastion of wisdom but also fond embarrassment. You know?"

"Never wanted it myself, but I get the idea."

"She's only got a little bump right now - smaller than the bump in the road we just hit - but we've started talking names. Wanna weigh in?"

Another surprise. "Me?"

"Why not? If it turns out we assigned the child the wrong gender we'll change it to something more accurate, but we have to call them _something_ in the years before they can tell us so. Culturally masculine names under consideration: Charles, Eliot, and Francis. Culturally feminine names: Darcy, Emma, and Frances."

"I knew a good Francis," John says thoughtfully.

"Point in its favor." They reach an intersection. It's a yellow light, but by the time she's finished slowing down, it's green again. "Enough about me. Tell me about you, Earthling. We have four days before I have to go back - I told them I had a family emergency - so you don't have to tell me everything during the car ride."

The car carries them away from Vernon, and he feels like if he looks back it will all turn out to be a dying hallucination, like a cruel vision of what he wasn't allowed to have after all. He's much, so very much better than he was, but morbid thoughts slip in all the time. Angelica told him to observe them without judgement and let them pass.

He thinks back to something happy Martian doesn't know about. Leave unhappy things for later, when they feel looser and this is all more real. "I took up fencing the semester after you left. I wasn't totally green, but most of the others had more experience. My sparring partner du jour takes off his mask and he smiles like I'm the solution to all his woes, delighted that I almost beat him..."

John Laurens talks and he looks ahead. Forward. Onward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Write! Write! Emilyyyyyy!
> 
> Write! Write! Charlooooootte!
> 
> ...And Anne!
> 
> The Brontë sisters!


	10. Rev. Samuel Seabury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of realism, assume that when Thom drove Alexander's car down to VA he temporarily installed a special rear view mirror/other necessary modifications, but they have since removed them.

Samuel Seabury  
Picked up by: Alexander Hamilton  
Relationship: Former ~~Opponent~~ Fellow Patient

"Thank you for giving me a ride into Arlington." Sam has taken to chatting with Alexander during his visits to the ward - he gathers that Alexander is staying with the Washingtons while piecing his life back together - but he hadn't expected this favor. It will be much cheaper and far less stressful to take the shuttle bus from Rosslyn Station to the airport than to deal with cabs and subways.

Alexander shrugs and sticks Sam's suitcase in the trunk of his car. "Don't want you missing your flight, and it's not out of our way. I hope you don't mind sitting in the back. I can't really communicate with my other passenger if he can't see me well."

"I don't mind, but what do you mean?"

Instead of answering, Alexander simply gets into the driver's seat (with the slow, creaky movements he's been exhibiting lately but refuses to discuss). Sam goes ahead and gets into the back. Riding in front is a young man, around Alexander's age, reclined and napping. His smartphone is cradled in one hand, his grip tight around it even as the rest of his body is slack. Alexander taps him firmly on the shoulder and points at Sam.

The young man blinks a few times, then turns to smile and wave. He wakes up phone and taps the screen. A robotic voice says, **Hello, Reverend Samuel Seabury. My name is Thom. I am Deaf. More importantly, I'm this guy's boyfriend. I know, right? Don't worry about inconveniencing us. I'm forcing him to take me to the State Department building plus normal tourist stuff. And also to park at Rosslyn rather than further out from DC, though I'm told it's noisy downtown. Because he kept me up most of the night. Some of us actually need sleep, but no, apparently that's a waste of time.**

"Oh...gosh." Alexander grabs the phone and spells out something with the fingers of his free hand. It looks like playful mock anger rather than genuine irritation. 

Thom's laugh is loud and unselfconscious. He grabs his phone back. This time he slips it into his jacket pocket, where he can feel it vibrate. Then points at Sam and Alexander with each hand, does the "blah blah blah" gesture, and a thumbs up. He leans back and closes his eyes again.

Alexander untwists Thom's seatbelt shoulder strap, and Thom hums when Alexander's hand touches his chest. "Shall we?" Alexander asks.

"Certainly." Sam puts on his own seatbelt as they drive away. His back sometimes itches but today it's letting him be. "Has Theodosia Burr approached you about the case against Howe and Cornwallis? Even though she's not going to be the one in court on account of being married to a staff member, she's unofficially contacting people on behalf of the legal team. Maybe you know that. Um."

"Yeah. I agreed to testify if the court date coincides with a time I can actually be in Virginia. I know John's gonna, and Jefferson. Pierre and Friedrich declined, but they've agreed to be anonymous sources for Jay's exposé. I don't know about Franklin or James or anyone else. I hope Jefferson's personality doesn't repel everyone from listening to the rest of us." Alexander always talks with amazing speed. Unless he's been sedated. 

"I will, but one of my old mentors in Edinburgh has invited me to stay with him for a time of spiritual reflection and healing, now that my mind and body have improved. Ms. Burr reassured me that it will be some months before the case is ready to go to court." 

"Sounds nice." 

"I hope so. I have this fear that I've strayed by, in effect, considering myself a prophet. Claiming to see hidden truths and to be wiser than everyone else, when it was the same run-of-the-mill paranoid delusions that all the paranoid and delusory have. I am not thankful for George King's actions, and I'm trying to have compassion for him - what was that?"

"Pothole. You'd think one day they'd get it fixed." Alexander gently rubs Thom's thigh. Thom felt the jolt and is dazedly looking around for the source. He relaxes at the touch and settles back down.

Sam considers this development in his knowledge about Alexander. Jay never mentioned his wife until she began visiting, and Sam only found out about Franklin's son by chance. There's another curious thing though. "I didn't know you spoke Sign Language."

"I don't really. I'm learning. Thom has saintly patience."

Interesting. "When I first met you, I thought of you as an arrogant hooligan."

Alexander laughs. "I thought of you as a self-important fool. What were you saying about George?"

"Oh. I was saying that I am, however, grateful that it forced me to reconsider my trust in him, and by extension my acceptance of such things as CIA electrodes. The people who wished me well had always refuted them, and the aliens and spy cameras..."

"And lizard people."

"I admit I've not yet closed the door on the possibility of lizard people, but I doubt in them."

"You are agnostic about lizard people."

This startles a laugh out of Sam. "I suppose so. The people who want the best for me tell me these things are false. The one person to have supported such ideas used them to hurt me. Once I listened to the doctors and entertained the possibility that my certainty was from chemical errors in my brain, the medications have dissolved whatever it was that made me so frightened and sure of those horrors. Yet my faith in Christ remains. I believe there are lessons in that which go beyond myself."

They stop at a red light. "So, like, George King symbolizes the devil?"

"That would be annoyingly cut-and-dried. My congregation would roll their eyes. Assuming I ever get my ministry back." Sam takes a deep breath and files that away for later. "We never stop learning. That's the important thing."

"You're right. We never do." Alexander taps a finger on the steering wheel, impatient. "Thom's going to be a diplomat, hell or high water. He's already doing everything he can to prepare for the Foreign Service Exam, despite it not being something you can properly study beforehand. Not throwing away his shot. Some people think he couldn't succeed as one. But have you ever seen an international conference that wasn't awash with interpreters? What's one more? Plus he can read and write Simplified Chinese characters. I turned him and Pierre into Chinese texting buddies, since Pierre was complaining he never got to use his _hanzi_ with anyone. I feel, I dunno, calm with him. That never used to happen before."

"You've got more heart than I once suspected." This is the young man who claimed his dog spoke more eloquently than Sam did - which was particularly insulting because he didn't have a dog, so he considered Sam less eloquent than a _nonexistent_ dog - so the bar had been set pretty low. All the same, though, Alexander has shown himself capable of quiet and self-awareness. Something previously unimaginable.

"Eh, you've got more brain than I unfairly accused you of, so we're even." 

The light turns green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's Quiet Uptown" references how Hamilton became more religious in later life.
> 
> Guess the denomination? Episcopalian.  
> Guess who became the leader of the Episcopalian church? Seabury!
> 
> Seabury was briefly jailed during the war for his Loyalist views, including the ones Hamilton attacked while writing under a pseudonym. Yet after the war, the Church of England cut him off for being a treasonous American. Ouch. Fortunately, the Church of Scotland was happy to accept him for the additional studies and ordination he needed to advance in the clergy. 
> 
> He did considerable work shaping Episcopalianism into an entirely distinct entity from Anglicanism. He became and remained a patriotic American for the rest of his life. He also had spiritual authority over Hamilton, though I dunno if either of them knew the irony.


	11. Meriwether Lewis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I spelled her name "Sacagewea" in Sharps Hour but have since learned that "Sacagawea" is more standard. I don't feel up to retroactively fixing it, but I've changed it for the sequel fics.
> 
> 2\. Since she didn't marry Charbonneau in this AU, I made up a last name for her.

Meriwether Lewis  
Picked up by: Sacagawea Gold  
Relationship: ~~Salvation~~ ~~Family~~ Friend

"Get in loser, we're going shopping."

"What? Oh, right. That movie. The one that's great on teenage girl social dynamics, but makes it sound like Africa's a single country."

"And is very quotable. Buckle up. We really are going shopping, though. Grocery shopping today - you can sit in the car if you prefer, but I like having you around - and later we need to figure out office space for you to rent. And office things to put inside it. If you're still sure you're going freelance."

"I am. I have my resignation all ready to leave on Andrew Jackson's desk. Want to help me superglue it to the nice wood surface?"

"I'm afraid if I get caught things could get nasty, but what if I take J.B. to work with me under some pretext and, mysteriously, he gets into Jackson's office with a tube of superglue? I wouldn't actually do it, don't worry. I don't want Jackson within a mile of any Native American child, for safety's sake, especially my own."

"It's a fun mental image, though. Sticky children are great agents of chaos."

"I said this during my last visit, but it's nice to see you smile from time to time."

"It's nice to feel me smile. One of these days I might grin, who knows?"

"You know Deborah Sampson?"

"Vaguely. She has that website. 'Reporting what DC does in the dark'."

"Mm hm. Nightseeker. I've been chatting with her off the record regarding various Dept of Interior snafus, including our big one, and she's interested in talking to you if you're up for it. We agreed I would be the one to bring it up and only when I was pretty sure the question wouldn't upset you."

"She's working with Jay, right?"

"Yes. Different story, but yes."

"Jay's improved considerably. Might just be his reconciliation with his wife, but at least Ms. Sampson isn't hurting him. After I've had a few days to get used to the outside world again, I don't mind getting in touch. Thank you again for letting me crash at your place. Also thank you for agreeing to help me go through my apartment tomorrow and clean it up."

"It's not for free, you know."

"Oh no, I have to babysit my godson whom I've missed terribly. Angst. Woe."

"I haven't been on a good date in years, Meri, so if you screw this up for me..."

"What do you define as a good date?"

"Where they don't turn out to be creepy sexy French dudes rather than charming sexy French dudes. Though at least I got a great kid out of that one, somehow. Charbonneau emailed me last week, wanted to "clear the air", and I said if he wanted to do that he should have done it when I was scared, pregnant, and broke."

"He treated you like he won you in a card game or something. Not a person."

"I know. So take care of J.B. and cross your fingers for me. J.B. is under the impression that you had a fight with Clark about the right way to do your jobs, a fight so bad that you both had to go to time-out. A super long time-out. I considered telling him you were sick, but then I wouldn't be able to explain why we couldn't visit you without making it sound like you were dying, and I try hard not to lie to him outright. Just break the truth into digestible pieces until we can fill in the details later. Is that okay? Can you roll with that? We can tell him something else, too."

"I think that's a good explanation."

"He's so excited to see you. While I was waiting for you to sign yourself out, I checked my phone. My brother texted GET LEWIS HERE I AM RUNNING OUT OF GAMES."

"Does he think Clark is coming back, too? Eventually?"

"He does, and it's not a lie. For a certain value of eventually. Clark and I have talked a few times. I mentioned that he's publicly acknowledged his son on the reservation, right? I don't think it's done Clark's family life a favor. I feel for Meriwether Jr."

"I told him not to name one of his kids after me."

"I think he's both really regretful and very appreciative: regretful that your fight pushed you so close to the edge, but appreciative that you've been classy about it and not used it as a weapon against his reputation." 

"I wasn't thinking of it in strategic terms. Do people think that? Will people think that?"

"It's all been pretty quiet. Once you're around DC again and it's more obvious you're not working for Jackson anymore, there's going to be poking around. Thanks to Jackson..."

"Running for the Republican nomination. Oh God."

"Eleanor Roosevelt and Harriet Tubman are the Democrat faves."

"Either of them would be preferable. A hollow log would be preferable. Your _baby daddy_ would be preferable, and I never thought I'd say that about him. Sampson's got an axe to grind against him, Jay said, and I'm happy to lend a hand. In a way that doesn't throw Clark under the bus."

"Oh?"

"You're not hiding that grin very well. I would need you to mediate, please, but I want to talk to him. I've missed him. I don't make friends easily."

"Of course I will. Just a sec, there's a pothole I'm veering around...haha, not this time! Speaking of you making friends, did John Laurens agree to be your PA?"

"Once he's sorted out his academic situation, yes."

"If I didn't know you were aro..."

"Jefferson made a lot of insinuations about whether Alexander was jealous of the two of us. When neither of us have romantic interest in our supposed shared object of infatuation. I appreciate Jefferson's intellect, accomplishments, and enthusiasm about my work, but that man stresses me out."

"Am I going to find the two of you curled in fetal positions on the floor of the office?"

"Is that better or worse than finding me curled up in a fetal position all by myself?"

"Better. The worst would be finding you two having sex on the desk."

"I didn't have sex with Pernia."

"You didn't look at Pernia like you do at Laurens."

"He wants romantic love and monogamy, and even if he didn't, he's got some ghosts that aren't mine to share..."

"So you want to."

"We all have inappropriate fixations. I'm not going to deny him a welcome opportunity or myself a supportive working relationship just because my lizard brain is going 'wa-hey!'."

"I believe you, but I'll be checking in. Otter says hi."

"Red light, don't run the red light! Does she, now? Did you fill her in? It's okay if you did."

"She's my best female friend, and you also wrote her a goodbye letter that horrible night. I did. She'd like to buy you dinner and hear about it. Then take you home and 'not hear about it'. She doesn't give me details about your little weekends, but...might take your mind off Laurens."

"I'll, hm, yeah, I'll give. Give her a call. A whole month without much, uh, privacy, you know. Probably aggravates...things. Green light."

"I can imagine, but don't really want to all that much. Hey, remember that time the three of us legit needed to huddle for warmth, since the camera crew had a trailer but we were trying to be authentic, and Yellowstone had that out-of-season cold snap? And Clark was still..."

"Under the impression that I was a really shy gay guy, yeah, I remember..."

"He thought he was being such a gentleman and so sensitive, too..."

"The next morning you joked that you felt oddly disappointed that an orgy hadn't materialized..."

"I've missed you. _This_ you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more on reconciling with Clark and to see J.B. in action, check out "Thanksgiving with Lewis & Co." in "Holiday Seasons".
> 
> Lewis' feelings about John are explored further in the one-shot "Midnight Blues".
> 
> It is known that Charbonneau acquired Sacagawea when she was about 13; some sources suggest he won her in a card game. You see why I don't ship her with this guy.
> 
> Otter Woman was Sacagawea's co-wife, her close friend, and maybe a relative.
> 
> Sacagawea can navigate a crevasse. A pothole is NOTHING.


	12. + Aaron Burr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an incident I read about in the Metro Express. 
> 
> (To clarify after a comment about this: I am referring to the DC publication.)

Aaron Burr  
Carpooling with: Eliza Schuyler  
Relationship: Coworkers who live near each other

"The first time I rode down this road in this direction, I'd just been discharged and Theodosia came for me. She wasn't officially divorced yet. Separated. It didn't matter to us. Theodosia wrote me an email every day I was inpatient." Sometimes Aaron feels as discombobulated on his way home as he had been that first time. Like today. He fiddles with the dashboard's nearby heating/cooling vents. Wellness is an endless uphill climb, and some days he wishes he could simply wait for it.

Eliza makes a thoughtful noise. "One of these days I'd love to meet her. Would she be interested in coming to Angelica's baby shower? I hope it's clear from the invite that all adult plus-ones are welcome, but..."

"If we can get a sitter for Theo, sure. Is there a registry?"

"Peggy made one on Amazon, but it's strictly for inspiration. You don't have to bring a gift or stick to the list. Nothing too off-the-wall, though. Church might faint." Eliza clicks her tongue at herself. "That was mean. We make fun of him more than he deserves. Angelica deals with way too much excitement and drama as a psych ward therapist. Heavy stuff she can't tell anyone. I understand why she wants a very staid and steady spouse."

"Did you really have a crush on Alexander Hamilton?" The young man had a scrappy, rebellious, scalpel-wit charm to him, apparent even to someone without the orientation to fully appreciate it, and has left his imprint even after he whirled out of their lives. Aaron feels like the charm could wear thin after awhile and turn exhausting. That it might be easier to love the _idea_ of such a person rather than risk being burned in his wake. 

She doesn't dodge the question. That's one of her excellent qualities. "I did, but look, maturity. Professionalism. Speaking of which..."

"Was Tommy Paine genuinely tearing me down during the inter-ward meeting, or was I projecting?" Aaron got angry, and then promptly became frightened of his anger, and then wrote his little mantra over and over on his notes, like a cross between self-soothing and that one scene from _The Shining_. It was based on something Theodosia wrote to him in their early days. _I am the one thing in life I can control. I am the one thing in life I can control. I am the one thing in life I can control._

"A little bit. He's very inflammatory. He was out of line. However, it probably wasn't the best idea for you to emphatically suggest the both of you go and settle it outside unless he took his comments back."

Aaron buries his face in his hands. "Now everyone who doesn't interact with me all the time is going to remember me for that and that alone."

"Narratives can always be rewritten...hey, what are Angelica and Peggy up to?"

The other two sisters have set traffic cones around the pothole that Aaron has complained about to the municipal government multiple times. Peggy is blowing up a balloon and Angelica taping already-inflated balloons to the cones. They've made a big sign, but it's at an angle Aaron can't read. The angle seems meant for drivers to read easily rather than passengers.

Eliza stops the car and rolls down her window. "What's up?"

"We're throwing the pothole a birthday party," Angelica explains.

"Whimsically protesting," Peggy adds.

"I think we need another 'THIS POTHOLE IS ONE YEAR OLD TODAY!' sign. Do you have more supplies with you, Pegs? I'll find a place to pull over safely." At Peggy's nod, Eliza turns to look at Aaron for his input.

 _I am the one thing in life I can control._ "If she's got glitter glue, I highly recommend we use it. Catches the eye. I can draw a recognizable, if not particularly attractive, cake on a piece of construction paper."

"You're on."

Aaron fires off a quick text about being slightly late for positive reasons. Wellness, frankly, is kinda draining. But the world is wide enough to pause for a moment with friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished another one!
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, gentle readers (especially comments). They are helping me get through a tricky patch.


End file.
